And Toms' in The Bathtub
by peachieO
Summary: Hexachordal Tom Milsom and Benjamin Cook Slash. Set in Winter


Hexachordal (Tom Milsom) and Benjamin Cook Slash. Set in Winter

After much internal debating, you decide to call him; it seems better to go over there and see what's going on for yourself. You know he's been busy helping Ed, but it's been five days, and he said he'd call. Now you deem it time to take matters into your own hands. You shove your green beanie over your bright red hair, and before you have time to register what's happening, you're ringing his doorbell.

You take a step back and wait for signs of life behind the door. You hear footsteps, but they're slow and shuffling, and seem all together wrong. Sure enough, Bacon opens the door.  
"Ben?" he questions, though the answer is a fairly obvious 'no shit' "I think he's in the bath," he tells you, as he held the door open. He sighs. "S'been a while." A bath? You step into the apartment as Bacon motions you in. You suppose there are still people who take baths, but Tom's usually not one of them when a shower is available.

You slowly make your way to the bathroom. As you approach the bathroom door, you gently knock twice, but there's no response. You knock again, with slightly more defiance this time, when suddenly it sounds like a wild animal is attacking a harp. That's a 'Keep Out' if you've ever heard one, but the fact that he's chosen _the bathroom_, of all places, as his fortress of solitude is worrisome. Now, you turn the doorknob and step inside.  
Half submerged in the bathtub is a fully clothed Tom Milsom. His electric blue hair seems to glow under the florescents, and appears to be the only part of him still the only part of him not drenched. He sits half-reclined with his harp across the top of his knees. You wonder why the harp was his instrument of preference; it's not usually his first choice, but then again, you think his choice in instruments might not be your first priority.

You walk to the side of the old bathtub, but he seems to be oblivious of your company. You kick off your shoes and slowly set one foot in the tub. The water is frigid cold, and you bite your lip and wonder if he's caught pneumonia yet. You step your other leg in, and quickly sink your legs and half of your torso into the water. Tom makes no acknowledgement of your presence, except to slide his legs back, hugging his knees to his chest with one arm, dangling the harp on the right side of the tube with the other. You try to get comfortable, but comfort is relative in now soaked skinny jeans in a cold bath. You find yourself leaning back, but the tub was not designed to accommodate two fully grown men. As Tom relaxes, your legs find a way to intertwine with his.

The physical contact seems to break his trance. He looks up at you, and you're afraid if you even blink you might startle him. He calmly stretches his right arm holding the harp until a soft thunk tells you he had placed the stringed instrument on the tiled floor. As you open your mouth to say his name, he lunges. The water sloshes around, and you stifle a shiver as it hits the top of your spine. His fingers curl as he grasps onto your shirt and his head sinks into your chest. You feel his voice reverberate into your bones as he sobs,  
"I cant. I can't. I can't. I can't." He repeats the words over and over, like a worn out mantra.

You crane your neck a bit and kiss his the top of his cerulean head. He collapses into you fully, and you now know he's pleading for help. Moving as little as possible as to not disturb your Tom, you pull the plug on the tub and let two thirds of the water drain out. You then turn the tap to 'hot' and let it refill. You sigh as warmth seeps back into you.

You sit there, cradling him in your arms until he's almost asleep. Then, realizing where you were, you then gently grasp him and basically carrying him out of him out of the water. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you walk him down the hall to his bedroom. He wants to go straight to bed, but he's still sopping wet, so you make him sit on the wooden floor in front of his bed as you pull off his Tripp pants, thankful he wore something so loose. You throw him a dry shirt and pair of underwear from his drawers, but when he doesn't put the shirt on, you let him crawl into bed in just the boxers.

Your soaked clothes quickly join his on the floor, but you put on the dry shirt he refused. Lastly, you pull off your beanie and join him on the left side of his bed. Without opening his eyes, he immediately snuggles up against you.

He murmurs something quietly as he drifts out of consciousness. You couldn't quite catch it all, but you definitely heard your name, and your pretty sure 'love' and 'you' were in there, as well. You soon join him in sleep, a smile secured upon your face.

* * *

Yay My first Tom Milsom / Benjamin Cook fic. I really wanted to do the 2nd person, so please tell me what you think of the perspective!


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